


He Likes Cats

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Coming Out, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Dorks in Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, Loner Castiel, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11766603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: The first time Dean sees Cas, he's absolutely smitten - but he's way too shy to say so, especially as he's only just recently started to think about coming out. Through a slight miscommunication, though, Cas happens to think that Dean has already asked him out on a date... and he's said yes.





	He Likes Cats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [K_K_TiBal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_K_TiBal/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYYYYYYYYYY TO MY DEAR, DEAR FRIEND [Michaela](http://thebloggerbloggerfun.tumblr.com) <3333 love ya asshole

_ Dean _

 

 

In the leaf-strewn grounds of his third high school in two years, Dean Winchester was wondering whether it was OK for him to be wearing his backpack on both shoulders, or if he should be dropping it off onto one. Did he look stupid with it like this? He shifted its weight, and decided to keep it on both - and then changed his mind, and slung it low over his left.

And then changed his mind again. Back on both. It was heavy, and it was cheap - the thin strap dug into his shoulder.

“And over to your right, you can see the art block. It’s actually pretty old.” The voice snapped Dean back to the present.  _ Right. Person. Be charming, Winchester, come on. _

“Oh yeah?” he said, performing curiosity, peering over his guide’s head to look; Charlie, the red-headed senior who was showing him around, nodded seriously.

“Not as old as my own art block though,” she said. “Haven’t drawn anything since second grade. It’s chronic.”

She glanced at Dean, and looked approving when she saw his smile. “Nice,” she said. “Sense of humour, check.”

Dean blinked, his expression mildly gratified. He smoothed it out with a shrug of his shoulders as they kept walking, heading back towards the main school. There weren’t many people around; Dean was glad of it. He tried to soak up the quiet - put some of it inside him for later, for when he was going to be dealing with the rush of new people and new classes and new teachers that was inevitably to come.

“So, are you looking forward to your first class?”

Dean side-eyed her.

“Chemistry? Oh, yeah,” he said. “Love it. Woke up this morning thinking about how I just couldn’t wait.”

“Ooh, sarcastic too. Double check.” She grinned at him. Even though he felt no real stir between them, Dean wondered briefly if she was trying to hit on him - and even though she was cute and seemed sparky, he hoped not. Right now, as cool as he kept it on the outside, his stomach was clenched around a host of butterflies. New school, new people, new life - and all he wanted to do was climb back into his car and drive away.

“If you wanna come sit with me at lunch, I’ll be around,” Charlie said, pushing open the door to the main school building and walking him back up the hall. Her shoes squeaked on the shiny floor; the smell of bleach was cloying. Dean eyed Charlie, and decided to nip whatever this was in the bud.

“Actually,” he said, “Charlie, I’m flattered, but…” He shrugged awkwardly. Charlie had turned to look at him, confused. “Well, you know, new place, and I’m not really ready for…”

“Oh my god, no,” Charlie said, taking a step back. “Hell no.” Dean felt his gut swoop at her expression. “My dude,” she said. “I don’t even swing your way. You are so, so safe from all attempts at romance right now.” Her cheeks looked a little flushed, despite the fact that her voice was still cool and snarky.

Dean, meanwhile, was feeling his face catch fire. He wondered briefly if statistical likelihoods would give him a break, and launch him spontaneously into outer space.

“Oh, God,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Oh. I… literally could not have read that any more wrong, huh?” He tried for a charming smile and got as far up the scale as queasy. “I am so sorry… I’ll just… I’ll go, shall I? Yeah. I’ll go.” He turned to walk away, but Charlie reached out and put a slim hand on his arm. Her eyes looked bright.

“Hey,” she said. “Offer for lunch still stands.”

“Really?”

She nodded, and Dean felt a little brush of warmth towards her - even through the desultory torment of his embarrassment.

“Not every day I meet someone round here who’s too busy being embarrassed to tell me I’m going to hell for being gay,” she said dryly. Dean blinked.

“Oh, man, no. Being gay is… great,” he said stupidly.  _ Charming, Winchester. We were going for charming. This is a train wreck. _

Charlie offered him a wry grin and a raise of her eyebrows. “Which part’s the great part again? The constant judgement, or the feeling that you’ve permanently disappointed your family?”

Dean stared at her, open-mouthed. “Uh,” he said. “Neither of those?”

“You’re right. It’s the part where I get to kiss girls.” She had a sharp edge to her tone, to her eyes. Dean wondered if she thought he’d been being flippant; this definitely felt like a telling-off. He nodded mutely in answer, not trusting himself to be able to say the right thing.

Charlie tilted her head to one side, watching him. She still seemed interested by him, at least.

“You gonna be OK?” she said. “You remember where the Chemistry lab is?”

“Down the hall,” Dean managed to find his voice to say. “On the right.”

“Awesome. Okay. Well, find me at lunch, if you want. I’ll be with a bunch of other weirdos. Just look for the table with the most rainbows, if that doesn’t freak you out.” The bell went; with the suddenness of a flash flood, the hall was filled up with noise and rush. Kids were everywhere, yelling and laughing and clattering open their lockers; Dean gripped the straps of his cheap backpack, held his ground against the tide, and tried for a genuine smile at Charlie.

“It really doesn’t freak me out at all,” he called over the din. “Actually, it sounds awesome. Are they all… your friends, are they…?” He glanced around at the kids nearest them. His last school hadn’t exactly been liberal; he had no idea what the general atmosphere here was like, but he didn’t want to shoot his mouth or accidentally out Charlie if she hadn’t already made it common knowledge. The rainbows made it sound like she had - but he wasn’t going to shove his foot any harder into his mouth if he could help it, and that meant no assumptions.

“My friends? They like cats,” Charlie said, and then winked. Dean stared at her blankly.

“They… like cats?” he repeated, wondering if he should be understanding. He absolutely was  _ not  _ understanding.

“When we can’t talk about... stuff,” Charlie said meaningfully, “we like to talk about  _ cats.  _ Like… have you seen Paris is Burning? Because, like, everyone in that movie  _ loves  _ cats.”

“Uh…”

“Moonlight? That is so about cats.”

“Oh,” Dean said, his face clearing. “Oh, yeah - cats, OK. So, you like cats, your friends like cats…”

“We’re cat enthusiasts,” Charlie confirmed solemnly.

“And, say, Milk…”

“ _ Definitely  _ about cats,” Charlie said. 

“Makes sense. Cats love milk,” Dean grinned, half in surprise at his own cleverness. Charlie punched his arm.

“Good,” she said. “Bell’s about to go again. See you at lunch?”

“See you there,” Dean said, turning away. He began to walk down the corridor, trying to strike the right balance of ducking out of people’s way and holding his path as he went - he didn’t want to be the asshole that stepped on someone, but also didn’t want to give off the vibe of a total pushover.

His thoughts lingered on Charlie as he pushed open the door to the Chemistry lab and absently sat down, opening his bag up to look for his pencil case. So, he’d already managed to find someone else at the school who was queer - that had to be a good thing, didn’t it? In fact, going by what Charlie had said, he’d had incredibly good luck to meet her and not some judgemental type instead. At his last school, Dean had thrown his all into being as closeted as he possibly could; he’d watched the queer kids getting their share of bullying, and decided it wasn’t for him.

He hadn’t bargained on the level of pressure that would build inside his own head, just from the stress of hiding. He’d been able to  _ feel  _ it messing with him, changing him day by day into someone a bit harder and a bit more angry. But now, here he was at a new school, with a fresh chance to make better friends - friends who he might be able to be more open with. He felt his chest tighten at the thought. What would everyone do to him, if he went over to sit at the rainbow table at lunch? Would he get called names -  beaten up? Would he be the only guy on the table, would that make a difference? 

But Charlie had seemed cool… and even through his instinctive fear, the idea of being honest with someone about himself had roughly the same level of appeal as a fire in the Arctic. Once he’d thought about it once, he couldn’t seem to stop.  _ I’m not straight,  _ he imagined saying, and it sent a shiver up his back. He ran the possible conversation through his head several different ways.

“Spacing out, new kid?” said a voice. Dean flicked a glance to his left to answer it, and found himself looking into the soft chocolate eyes of a pretty girl with blonde hair.

“Kinda,” Dean said. He smiled crookedly. 

“You’ll be Dean,” the girl said. “I’m Jo. Charlie texted me, said you’re coming to sit on our table at lunch.”

“She invited me,” Dean said defensively, not able to read the girl’s tone; he couldn’t tell if she was being unfriendly or just curious. 

Jo smiled, and it was like the sun had come out. Dean relaxed. “Nice,” she said. “See you then.”

_ Huh. _

Dean turned back to face the front, watching the last few kids hustle in through the door before the class started. Their teacher, a squat little man with a receding hairline, was already writing a lesson outline on the whiteboard as they hurried to their seats. There was a tall, brown-haired kid with a dopey grin on his face; a curvy, dark-haired girl chewing gum -

And, last of all, a boy with bright blue eyes.

Dean felt a little stumble in his chest. 

He watched as the boy entered the room, apologised to the teacher for his lateness, and headed towards a seat. He was tall, a little gangly; he had the look of someone who had grown a lot in a short space of time, and was still filling out his new edges, colouring up to the lines of his own body. He was tanned; his backpack rested on shoulders that looked strong, and his hands hung loosely by his sides - strangely elegant in their awkwardness, almost graceful but not quite there. He was wearing an expression that was flat, bland - but his eyes,  _ God,  _ his eyes. Dean realised he was staring at the exact same moment that the boy met his gaze, and Dean wasn’t fast enough to snap his mouth shut.

He swallowed hard. The boy looked like lightning caught in a person. And he was heading towards Dean, towards the empty seat on his right.

“Alright, Cas?” the girl called Jo said, as he swung himself down into the seat. The boy leaned forward slightly, looking past Dean to offer her a small smile and a wave. He looked a little uncertain about it, though, as though they didn’t know each other as well as Jo’s warm greeting suggested.

Dean wanted to say something to him.  _ Hey  _ was too boring.  _ What’s up, Blue Eyes  _ was too cliché; a guy this good-looking had to have heard it before, right?  _ Marry me tomorrow  _ was definitely tempting, but possibly just a  _ little  _ too much too soon.

The boy - Cas, had Jo said? - looked right at Dean, who realised he’d been staring again.

Cas’ eyes were deep enough to lose himself in.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Dean knew he should be saying something - but then Cas raised an eyebrow, and Dean smiled in response; immediately, quite naturally, it felt as though they were already conversing. Without words, only a single look - it was enough. To Dean, the conversation felt familiar. There was a look in Cas’ eyes that Dean thought he knew - it was on the cusp of his memory, almost in his grasp. 

They’d never met before - Dean knew he’d have remembered - but somehow it felt as though they were continuing a conversation they’d been having for years. 

“Dean,” he managed to say out loud. 

Cas’ head tilted slightly to the side. 

“My name,” Dean clarified. “It’s Dean.”

Cas’ expression cleared.

“Hello, Dean,” he said.

They smiled at each other for a few seconds; Dean could hear the rest of the class moving around them, but didn’t pay any attention.

“So… Chemistry,” Cas said, looking towards the front of the classroom - breaking their held gaze. Dean found himself wanting it back, immediately.

“Absolutely,” he said, with feeling. Cas slid a glance back towards him, and Dean felt a little beat of victory. Those  _ eyes.  _ What the hell was happening? He’d walked into this class expecting to hate his way through some scientific crap he didn’t understand, not find himself sitting next to the most beautiful guy he’d ever met.

“Well,” Cas said, with a light inflection of irony, “indeed.”

At the front of the class, the teacher was clearing his throat, and holding up the register. Dean settled down into his seat, preparing himself for what he had thought was going to be a long class - but which was now looking like it couldn’t last long enough.

*

“Dean!” 

Holding his tray tightly whilst trying to make it seem as though he was holding it loosely and casually, Dean made his way across the cafeteria. Sure enough, Charlie - waving to him - was sitting at a table which had a big rainbow flag draped across the top of it; around the table were six or seven people who all greeted Dean with a friendly nod or a smile. They weren’t all girls, either, Dean noted with a little upswing of hope - and the guys at the table didn’t seem to have any obvious bruises. No one looked scared; glancing around the cafeteria, Dean saw that everyone else seemed to be paying the table no attention whatsoever.

Interesting.

He sat down next to Charlie when she patted the seat beside her, and began to pick at his food. Nerves generally grew his appetite to disproportionate levels; today, however, ever since Chemistry, he’d been dealing with a very different kind of nervousness to the type that he was used to. He couldn’t get Cas out of his mind; every corner he turned, he kept hoping they’d run into each other. It was stupid - he and Cas had barely said another word to each other once the class had started. They’d only given each other a nod goodbye. And yet even now, Dean was subtly craning his neck, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of him in the cafeteria.

“Looking for someone?” Charlie enquired, taking a bite out of an apple. Dean hunched back over guiltily, shrugging.

“It’s OK, you can say,” Jo said, swinging her legs so that she was sitting with one on either side of the bench that was drawn up to the table. The rainbow flag fluttered softly at the movement. She rested her head on her hand, and grinned a little coyly. “Have you found someone you liiiiiiiike, Dean?”

“Oh, Dean’s not looking for romance,” Charlie said, and Dean felt a hot swoop of embarrassment rising up all over again as the memory of their earlier conversation resurged with a vengeance. “He’s just not quite ready yet.” She gave him an impish grin, which he returned with a sheepish one.

“Actually,” he said, and then stopped. 

This was it. He could tell them all, right now, that he wasn’t straight. He wouldn’t even have to say the words; he could just say,  _ I kinda think I like that guy, Cas.  _ And that would be it. They were sitting here with a rainbow flag on the table, for God’s sake, he wasn’t going to find a group of people more accepting for miles around. 

The words still stuck in his throat, just like he’d taught them to.

“Ooooh,” Charlie said. “There is someone! Who is it?”

“Is it Anna?”

“No, he hasn’t met Anna.”

“He has! I saw him talking to her between second and third period!”

Jo and Charlie squabbled briefly; Dean stared down at his food, trying not to look frozen. He swallowed hard. He  _ had  _ to say it. If he couldn’t say it now, he might never do it. And he didn't want to go through months at this school as closeted and angry as he’d been before.

“It’s -” he said, and Charlie and Jo fell silent. The rest of the table - a few faces Dean recognised from earlier classes, others that he didn’t - all turned to look at him, politely attentive.

He let out a slow breath.

“It’s, uh. I - I, um.” He could feel himself going bright red.  _ God.  _ Why did he have to be making such a big deal out of this?

“Dean,” said Charlie quietly. “Do you… like cats?”

Dean blinked at her - and then he smiled. Codewords - those, he could do.

“Yeah,” he said, just a little hoarsely. “Yeah, I like - I like cats.”

At that moment, he heard a loud crash; Dean jerked his head around to see Cas, who was sitting at the table closest to them. He’d just dropped his fork, and he picked it back up with a swift, awkward motion.

Charlie punched Dean in the shoulder, dragging his attention back to her.

“Nice,” was all she said, and then started talking about her Physics teacher’s new haircut, and how it made him look like an Uruk-Hai.

Later, Dean thought, he could tell them details, tell them he liked the boy sitting over on the next table reading his book and looking totally engrossed. For now, he’d made progress - he’d told a group of people, in the world, that he wasn’t straight. It was terrifying, it was stupid; he felt vulnerable and open and exhilarated. He ate his lunch quietly and watched Cas out of the corner of his eye.

_ Yeah,  _ he heard himself saying again.  _ Yeah, I like - I like cats. _

 

************************

 

_ Castiel _

 

 

Cas ate his lunch slowly, because his hands were full of gentle pins and needles and his head was in the sky.

_ Yeah,  _ he heard Dean say again.  _ Yeah, I like - I like Cas. _

He’d just  _ said  _ it, right there in the cafeteria, to Charlie Bradbury. Cas only really knew that group by sight - of course he did, given that he only really knew everyone in the entire school by sight - but he’d never felt so much warmth towards a group of people as he did towards everyone seated at the rainbow table at that moment. They’d pushed Dean to talk about his new crush - and then they’d all stayed quiet as he answered, quiet enough that Cas had been able to hear it almost perfectly over the chattering of the cafeteria.

Charlie had even asked outright -  _ do you like Cas?  _ And Dean hadn’t even looked surprised. Had they already  _ talked  _ about him? Had Dean mentioned their meeting in Chemistry?

Just thinking about it again made suns shine in Cas’ chest. The way that Dean had looked at him when he’d been walking across the classroom - Cas had never been looked at like that before by  _ anyone,  _ let alone by someone like  _ that.  _ Dean had charm - charm like magic, like a quickening spell, from his easy smile to his bright green eyes. He had freckles across his nose and he wore a leather jacket, and he looked at Cas like - like he was  _ interested - _

And he  _ was  _ interested. He’d said so.

Cas tried to keep eating, but found that he had too many suns and stars inside him already; they filled him up to brimming and he couldn’t eat anything more.  _ Yeah,  _ Dean said in Cas’ head,  _ Yeah, I like - I like Cas. _

It was too good to be true. And Dean moved  _ fast,  _ apparently, because they’d barely exchanged twenty words between them in total and yet he somehow had a crush - not that Cas was able to judge, considering the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop sneaking glances at Dean across the space between them, feeling his cheeks turning pink as he did so. Dean was talking with Jo and Charlie, expressions flicking across his face like light over water. Cas wished he could slow Dean’s face down, watch every subtle change and move, try to understand it.

He wished he could go over to Dean right now, and talk to him.

And why  _ couldn’t  _ he?

Well, Cas reasoned, there was the obvious lack of confidence and experience that he’d managed to gain over the years - he had no idea  _ how  _ to go over there. What would he do? What would he say?  _ Hello, I just heard you like me. I also like you. I believe it’s customary for us to go on some kind of social outing at this point. Would you like to go to the cinema with me? _

Leading with that, Cas thought with a touch more gloom, he could lose Dean’s good opinion even faster than he’d somehow, miraculously, won it. Even to his own ears it sounded lame and stilted. He needed to be like Dean - relaxed, charming, at ease. He was nowhere near close.

But Dean  _ liked  _ him. For the first time in Cas’ school career, someone  _ liked  _ him - and Cas liked him  _ back. _

He had to do something about it. Not because of the rareness of the occurrence, so much as because he could feel the need inside him; those suns, those stars in his chest, they were burning on excitement and hope was like smoke - all he could breathe.

He took a bite of his choc-chip cookie, to try to ground himself a bit.

Words weren’t his strong point, but that didn’t matter. If Dean liked him, then Cas would find a way to tell Dean that the feelings were definitely, definitely mutual.

*

Exactly eight days later, Cas was standing with his back to the wall, trying not to make too much noise. He was holding an apple, tossing it from one hand to the other. Nervous.

Slowly - ever so slowly - he peered around the corner.

Dean. As usual, Cas was blazing inside at the simple sight of him. And as usual, he took a moment to wonder briefly when he had become this person - smitten was the only word he could think of, utterly smitten. In quiet moments, it was green eyes he saw - green eyes and easy smiles.

He tossed his apple back and forth, back and forth.

The feeling of it filled him up. It took away the echoing emptiness of being lonely that he’d had in this school, from the very first class onwards. Never speaking more than a few words to anyone, never sharing much about himself - he hadn't realised how tight a rein he'd been keeping on himself, until Dean had come along.

The past few days hadn’t weakened or cooled his feelings. With the way Dean looked at him, the way Dean spoke to him, the way he felt had only been kindled and stoked. His need to do something about it, something, anything, had finally resulted in this - this moment, where he was watching Dean move through the muted crowd before classes started for the day.

Dean reached his locker and opened it, and Cas held his breath.

He imagined he could hear the rush of the little huff of surprise that Dean gave as he caught the piece of paper that almost tumbled out to the floor; he clenched his fists as he watched Dean unfold it and read it. Cas knew what it said - he’d posted it into the locker just moments before. He’d agonised over the wording of that note, crossed out so many attempts and tried again - and eventually settled on simplicity.

_ I like you, Dean,  _ the note read. 

Dean’s face was going red; Cas could feel his heartbeat speeding up as he watched the blush rise. He ducked back round the corner as Dean glanced around, searching for the person who might have given it to him.

Maybe he should have signed the note, Cas reflected. After all, he didn’t  _ need  _ to be worried; Dean  _ liked  _ him. But still, there was a part of him that couldn’t quite believe it - after so long being lonely, couldn’t quite believe that anything could change. This was the bravest he could be, for now.

He peeked back round the corner, and saw Dean rereading the note. He had a smile on his face, a small and soft thing that Cas would carry with him all day.

*

“Pass me those safety glasses, would you, Cas?”

Dean’s voice was gradually easing into familiarity. They’d been lab partners for four weeks, now, and Cas was confident that it would only take another six or seven more before his pulse stopped racing whenever Dean said his name.

It just sounded better when Dean said it, that was all.

Cas picked up the big, clear safety glasses that they both needed to be wearing for the experiment. It was Friday, which meant that Chemistry was their last class of the day; the classroom was filled with a low, sandalwood light and the sleepy sensation of students trying to concentrate for the last fifteen minutes of the week.

The weekends were always bleak for Cas. Without friends or family to go home to - only a plush hotel room, paid for by his mother who lived out of state - he often found himself sleeping the time away, bored and lonely, before he could go back to the relative excitement of school. These past few weekends, however, he’d found himself not content to doze through the time; he’d rejected the stagnation, gone for walks, eaten out, shopped, stopped at the library.

He felt - alive, in himself. More than he had done for a long time, and he had Dean to thank for it - even if Dean himself remained oblivious to the fact.

He felt like a  _ person.  _ So many hours he’d spent worrying and wondering when he would ever become a concrete human, rather than just a vague collection of faces and reactions; so many hours wasted, now that he finally felt seen - understood, even, appreciated. He'd been fine, before, of course he had - it was just that this felt so much  _ better. _

His emotions were running higher than they ever had before, every one of them. Happiness, in the stroke of a book’s pages against his fingertips or the sound of Chopin playing crackly on LP. Sadness, in the ache of those books’ stories, in the pine of the Nocturnes through his old gramophone. Anger, excitement, hope, loss - they’d been there all along, but he’d learned to ignore them so carefully, sinking into routine and safety. And now, with a single blow of overwhelming  _ like,  _ his feelings for Dean had broken the wall.

He could  _ feel,  _ like never before. It was terrifying; it was maddening.

He wondered if Dean knew even the slightest amount of what he’d done. Cas hoped not. He wanted to be able to tell Dean, one day - a long way away in the future, perhaps, when the time felt right.

For now, he was content to keep handing Dean safety glasses in Chemistry as often as they were needed.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said suddenly, holding a pipette and wearing a frown. “Do you - uh, you know, do you wanna maybe hang out tonight?”

Cas’ legs considered giving out; he folded his arms to cover the moment and cleared his throat in as low and gruff a way as he could manage.

“We don’t have to,” Dean said hurriedly. “Sorry - stupid idea.”

“No,” Cas said, trying not to sound too eager. “No, Dean - I’d like that. It sounds fun. What did you have in mind?”

“Just something casual,” Dean said, looking relieved. “You know, maybe just go back to one of our places, watch some movies or something.”

It didn’t  _ sound  _ like a date, as far as Cas knew - he thought they generally entailed going out of the house, and possibly the exchanging of flowers - but it had to be Dean’s idea of a date, didn’t it? After all these weeks of tension, and Cas wondering how to make a move, Dean had finally done it for him. Cas couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“That sounds good,” he said. “Yes, please.”

*

“Dude. You, like - live in a hotel?”

Dean swung his backpack to the ground absently, staring around Cas’ room. It was impressive, Cas couldn’t deny it, though he was mostly inured to its grandeur - it felt more like a gilded cage than anything else, these days.

Having Dean inside it, though, staring around as though at the walls of a treasure cave, gave it back some of its shine. Cas watched, quiet, as Dean moved around - picking things up, inspecting, learning. Cas’ books, on the bedside table; his music, on the sideboard. Dean scrunched his fingers into the coat Cas had left messily over the back of the couch, and Cas clenched his fist as though to feel the same sensation. Dean was talking as he moved, little expressions of excitement or curiosity; Cas found himself too dizzied to answer back, his words all caught up in his throat.

“Uh,” Dean said eventually, turning back to Cas with a smile. “Sorry, I was... didn’t mean to creep on your stuff.”

Cas lifted a shoulder with a smile. 

“It’s alright,” he said, breaking his silence with some relief. “I’m sorry, I just - I don’t often do this.” 

“Have people over?”

_ Date,  _ Cas thought, but he didn't say it. What Dean had said was equally true, so he nodded wryly and moved further into the room - heading for the TV set mounted on the wall off to one side. He was acutely aware of the fact that it was just the two of them, in this room, on a  _ date.  _ They could touch if they wanted. Hold hands -  _ kiss. _

The thought was overwhelming. Cas’ lips had the after-apple feeling of sharp tingling as he grabbed awkwardly for the remote control resting on his glass coffee table.

“So…” he said. “Movies? I have Netflix, Amazon, there’s some Blu-Rays…”

They argued companionably about what to watch, relaxing into each other’s company. On some level, Cas had been concerned that Dean’s charm lay mostly inside his own head, and that talking to the real Dean and getting to know him would prove a disappointment; he couldn’t have been further from the truth. It took them a full hour to settle finally on  _ Pirates of the Caribbean,  _ because Cas kept making Dean laugh and Dean kept surprising Cas - saying things he’d never have considered, immersing him.

He was fascinating, Cas found, to his own giddy surprise. Dean was fascinating. And Dean treated  _ Cas  _ like he was fascinating, listening carefully to everything he said. So used to seeing people’s eyes go blank as they disappeared into their own thoughts during conversations, Cas found himself almost wrongfooted by the quality of Dean’s attention. It was careful, gentle, relaxed - but always present.

In comparison, Castiel felt like the point of a needle. He couldn’t seem to turn down his own intensity; it was with some relief that he started the movie, just so that he could get out of his own head - his own superfluity of feelings, for a while.

After  _ Pirates  _ they watched  _ The Princess Bride,  _ and then the first of the  _ Lord of the Rings  _ movies - the extended editions, of course, because as they both agreed, who in their right mind would settle for less?

As the movies rolled on, Cas ordered them up food; he brought Dean drinks of water and juice, tried to remember to be a good host while at the same time being almost painfully happy and utterly aware of Dean’s hands at all times. When the credits of  _ Fellowship  _ began to roll, those hands were loose in Dean’s lap. The lighting in the hotel room was dimmed - for optimum viewing conditions, as Dean had said - and to one side, the room’s wide windows gave out onto the lights of the houses and shops below.

“Love that movie,” Dean said, his voice low and easy. “‘S the best one of the three.”

“Hmm,” Cas said, non-committal. Dean blinked over at him.

“What? Which one do you like?”

Cas lifted a shoulder.

“Two Towers,” he said, knowing Dean was going to disagree. Sure enough, the expression that met his answer was incredulous. 

“Two Towers? The middle one?  _ Why?” _

Cas shrugged again, awkward.

“I like it,” he said, and then tried to explain himself properly. “It’s - it’s my favourite part of any story. The middle.”

Dean’s expression shifted a gear, leaving indignance behind and moving towards curiosity.

“It is?”

“Well…” Cas sought for words. “At the beginning, everything is always… strange. Unfamiliar.” He gestured with a hand, vaguely. “Spiky. Nothing feels right, yet. And at the end, it can be so sad… or so happy. It’s always so  _ much.  _ But in the middle?” He smiled, more to himself than at Dean. “In the middle, there’s just the quiet moments. The stillness of the story. The writer is saying,  _ here we are. You know why we’re here. You know what’s happening.  _ And the characters are growing and changing. And everything feels like - like it’s  _ happening.  _ It’s not all stuck in potential and it’s not all already over. It’s  _ happening. _ ”

Dean was watching him talk, his lips slightly parted. When Cas stopped, he drew in a breath.

“You’re good with words and stuff, huh,” he said - not a question. Cas shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I never have been.”

“Uh…” Dean was looking disbelieving again.

“I speak stiltedly,” Cas explained. “I always have.”

Dean propped his head on his arm on the back of the sofa, and turned to face Cas a little more.

“Sure, it’s kind of unusual,” he said. “But it doesn’t mean it’s bad _. _ ”

Cas smiled dryly.

“Try telling everyone at school about that,” he said. “They’ve made it pretty clear over the years that they find me off-putting. For many reasons, I’m sure, but -”

“Dude, I’ve been at the school for, like, five weeks now. Never heard a word against you.”

“They already said all the words to my face,” Cas said. “It must be boring, after that.”

Dean’s eyes were flicking over Cas’ features, his expression too nuanced for Cas to understand.

“Maybe they’ve changed,” Dean said quietly. “People grow up a lot during school. Realise that they things they said or thought before… weren’t OK.”

Cas acknowledged this, after a pause, with a nod of his head.

“Perhaps,” he said. The words he’d had thrown at him had hurt, had stuck. He remembered them in bright detail; it wasn’t easy to forgive wounds that still felt fresh. He shook his head, feeling embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because. This isn’t what we’re supposed to talk about,” Cas said. So far as he’d been able to glean from movies and books, dates were supposed to be full of lighthearted conversation and flirtatious banter - not discussion of past bullying and old sorrows.

“It’s not?” Dean looked amused. “Well, I didn’t mind.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nah. I kinda liked it, in a way. Probably sounds weird.” 

Cas waited for him to go on; Dean only did so after he caught Cas’ expectant expression. “Well, you know.” He shrugged. “I’ve been moved around a lot, here and there, new schools, losing people. And my family... ” He swallowed. “Anyway. It fucks you up, man.”

Cas watched him, quiet.

“Maybe I haven’t even got a good reason to be,” Dean said softly. “But… I’m pretty fucked up right now, to be honest.”

Cas waited for Dean to look at him; the confession had obviously cost him something.

“I’m... pretty fucked up, too,” Cas said quietly, using Dean’s words. He’d never once spoken aloud of the hurts he had within him - the memories, the aches. 

They watched each other for a moment. Dean’s eyes were honest, and understanding.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. Cas half-smiled, just barely.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, and meant it.

The silence between them as they looked at each other wasn’t awkward, but wasn’t quite comfortable; there was a sensation of possibility growing between them, warm and inviting. Cas shifted on the sofa, ever so slightly, and Dean moved with the movement - a gentle mirror as much as a reaction.

“If I have to be fucked up,” Dean said, “I’d rather not be fucked up alone. I, uh…” He cast a glance at Cas that was almost furtive, before saying - a half-mumble - “I’m glad we met.”

Cas’ smile was real and full this time. “Me too,” he said. “I’m glad too.”

The distance between them didn’t close - but Cas had never felt closer to another human being in his life, than he felt to Dean in those moments. Dean was watching him, chewing the inside of his cheek; Cas looked back, feeling like he understood - even just a little - of what someone else was feeling. A rare moment of clarity in amongst all the tangled possibilities and guesses that he tried to make - a gift of a sensation, this proximity, this empathy.

“I’m bisexual,” Dean said, and the words came out blurted. Cas blinked, taken aback.

“Oh,” he said. “Good.”

“Good?” Dean seemed to seize on the word. 

It struck Cas that possibly, this was the first time Dean had come out to someone; he looked nervous enough, confused enough. Cas, too, was confused - if they were on a date, wasn’t it clear that neither of them were straight? But he let his puzzlement pass. There were more important things to think about.

“Good,” he confirmed. He met Dean’s eyes, and through silent understanding rather than words he tried to express his support, the ease of his acceptance. 

Dean seemed to see what he needed. He pressed his lips together, swallowed hard - and then smiled. 

“Cool,” he said. Cas wanted to reach out and take his hand, but it was far away enough that he wouldn’t be able to pass the movement off as anything else to cover it up if it failed.

He kept still.

When Dean left half an hour later, it was without a single touch having passed between them - not so much as the brush of a hand. Cas fell asleep - and he dreamt of Dean, and of beginnings and middles and ends.

 

************************

 

_ Dean _

 

 

Dean sat at the rainbow table in the cafeteria, thinking. 

It was getting ridiculous.

He and Cas were hanging out regularly now - just movie nights and games nights, nothing more, but every moment they spent together made Dean more acutely aware of his feelings. He  _ liked  _ Cas, liked everything he knew about him. Liked his face and his mind and his heart. Liked that fact that he was still so unformed, so not-quite-yet the person he was going to be.

In himself, Dean felt different. He’d been so nervous, coming to this school - so closed, so attentive to what everyone was going to think of him. But Cas… Cas was different. He sat alone in the cafeteria. He always wore his backpack on both shoulders. Maybe he cared what people said about the things he did - but he did those things anyway. It had never occurred to Dean as a possibility that he could ignore popular opinion - but with Cas in his life, it became suddenly easy. Obvious.

He was wearing different-coloured clothes; he was eating different food. He hadn’t tried out for every single sports team just to try to prove something; instead, he’d tried out for the cheer team - and got in.

The only thing he  _ hadn’t  _ done that he really needed to do, so far as he could see, was make any kind of move about his feelings for Cas. 

It was ridiculous, and he knew it. The feeling between them was palpable, undeniable; it couldn’t just be wishful thinking on Dean’s part. And yet there was a kind of settledness to Cas, a happiness with where they were, which made Dean doubt himself. What if Cas only wanted to keep doing what they were doing - not dating, just hanging out as friends?

Dean didn’t know how much longer he could keep that up. Every time they were together he found himself getting angry - angry at Cas’ ruffled hair, his full lips, the way his t-shirts fit over his shoulders. The way his hands looked with the fingers curved; the way he looked when he smiled, dear God, that smile - small, shy, knowing. It angered Dean because it was all  _ there,  _ it was all possible, but he was too afraid to take the step towards it. It was all too uncertain, too new.

And Cas, meanwhile, seemed happy enough - not feeling the anger, the urgency, that might have pushed them forwards.

It was driving Dean up the wall - and every time he was with Cas, he was both more achingly aware of that than ever, and also more untouched by it, too. He could feel the frustration, the need, inside him - hot like red metal - but Cas’ simple presence was enough to gild his day. He was happier and angrier than he’d ever been; it was a torture that he couldn’t help liking, a dream that he couldn’t help hating.

Charlie nudged Dean, jerking him back to reality in the cafeteria. He grinned at her as she sat down.

“No Jo?” he said. Charlie shook her head.

“She’s hanging out with Anna,” she said. “I think there might be something going on, if you know what I mean.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Didn’t you tell me you dated Anna last year?”

Charlie rolled her eyes.

“Everyone dates everyone in high school, grandpa,” she said. “And when you’re a girl into girls, that’s even more true than it is for everyone else. Not exactly a big pool of choice. There are really not that many fish in the sea.”

“And cats like fish,” Dean said, with a smile. Charlie winked at him.

“They sure do love fish, those cats,” she agreed. “Fiends for ‘em.”

They ate their lunches in easy silence for a while; other friends came and went from the rainbow table with brief hellos and goodbyes.

“What about Cas?” Dean said eventually.

Charlie looked up at him, startled.

“Cas Novak? What about him?”

“You said everyone dates everyone. Has Cas ever dated anyone?”

Charlie put her head on one side. “No,” she admitted. “Not that I know of. He’s a weird one, Cas Novak. I only came here in junior year and by then he’d already separated himself off. Got a rich mom who lives upstate, I think.”

“Out of state,” Dean corrected her.

“Like you would know better?” Charlie teased - and then saw the slightly frozen expression on Dean’s face, and paused. “Dean?”

“We’ve been hanging out,” Dean said awkwardly. “That’s all.”

“Like…” Charlie prompted.

“Just as friends,” Dean hurried to say. “Nothing more.”

“Does he like cats?” Charlie said, careful to use the code; she always made sure not to cause rumours or trouble for anyone by speculating openly about their orientation if they weren’t out - especially not in a public, busy place like the cafeteria.

Dean shrugged. “I think so?” he said, trying to make it sound as though it didn’t hugely matter to him.

“So…” she said. “If he likes cats… and you told me on your first day that  _ you  _ like cats...”

“What did you just say?”

The voice was as familiar as it was unexpected. Dean whipped his head round to see Cas standing to his right, clutching his book with white-knuckled hands. 

Dean stared at him, the wrongness of Cas’ expression panicking him, sealing his lips shut; Cas looked ashen, horrified.

“I said Dean likes cats,” Charlie said, after a moment, even though the question had been addressed to Dean - and it was Dean that Cas was watching now.

“Cas…” Dean said uneasily, half-rising - but Cas held up a hand, shook his head, and walked away.

“How long was he listening for?” Dean said out loud, his own voice sounding muted to his ears as he watched Cas leaving the cafeteria. He’d never seen anyone walk so stiffly, so unnaturally.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said; looking down at her, Dean could see her thinking things, putting it together. Dean swallowed, and sat back down. If Cas had heard -

“What do you think you’re doing?” Charlie said, sounding surprised.

“I’m - uh…” Dean looked down at his food, and then back to Charlie, and then dimly across the busy hall towards the door outside that Cas had taken. “I’m... I don’t know. Did it look like he needed time to cool off, or -”

“Nope.”

“Maybe I should…?”

“Yup.”

“I’m gonna…”

“Go!” Charlie reached for a book from her bag, pulled out the bookmark, and opened it. When he didn’t immediately move, frozen with the suddenness of his nerves and confusion, she fixed him with a glare.

“OK,” he said hastily. She softened as he stood, breaking into a smile.

“I want details later, Winchester. Can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me.”

As he began to move across the cafeteria, Dean himself couldn’t answer the question of why he hadn’t chosen to tell Charlie about Cas. She was definitely his next closest friend in the school, other than Cas - but it had always felt too dangerous to spill out even a single drop of his feelings to anyone at all. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Charlie to keep it a secret; even though Jo was her best friend and they told each other everything about themselves, Dean knew neither of them were the type to share gossip about other friends behind their backs - especially not if Dean had specifically asked for privacy. No, it wasn’t fear that his feelings would be made fodder for entertainment that had him worried. It had been more his concern that if he drew down a bucket into the well of his feelings, he’d find himself suddenly overrun with it - unable to stop letting it pour and pour.

Besides… Dean remembered how it had felt for Cas to be the first one to know that Dean was bisexual. It had felt so  _ right,  _ and there had been a part of him - there still  _ was  _ a part of him - that wanted Cas to be the first to know about his feelings, too.

Cas’ pale, shocked face swam before his eyes, and Dean picked up his pace. He had no idea where Cas would be headed; he pushed out of the doors and walked down the hall, making for Cas’ locker. He figured he’d start there, and then search systematically outwards.

If they’d spent much time together at school, Dean would have known his haunts better. But their time had felt too precious, too - too intimate to take place in the view of other students. They only time it had felt acceptable was in their shared class, Chemistry…

On a sudden hunch, Dean hastily diverted path, and made for the lab. It was stupid to expect that Cas could be here - wasn’t it? But this was the only place in the school that represented Cas to Dean, and maybe Dean to Cas; the only place that was about them. If Cas cared, Dean thought inconsequentially, if this mattered to Cas, then he'd come here.

He swung open the door to the lab. Framed in the window, a dark figure against the pale window, was Castiel.

Dean swallowed. Somewhere in his mind, he felt vindicated. This  _ was  _ about him - about him and Cas. The thought was as terrifying, though, as it was validating. What could he have done, to make Cas look like that? How could he fix it, without knowing?

He cleared his throat.

“They should, uh,” he said. “They should really lock the door to the lab. Health and safety, you know.”

“They keep the dangerous chemicals in the locked cupboard,” Cas said distantly. Dean approached, his heart beating hard. Behind him, the door swung closed - the hush in the empty classroom was complete.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’m talking about these dangerous pipettes. Someone might accidentally droplet themselves to death.” If he was hoping for a smile, he didn’t get one; Cas’ face was made of marble.

“Cas,” Dean said, very softly. Under the force of the single word, Cas’ expression shifted. His eyes closed, a longer blink - a proof of some kind of endurance, some kind of pain.

“Dean, I just…” Cas said, sounding surprisingly calm. “I’ve made a mistake. I thought…” He shifted his hands; Dean realised Cas was still holding onto his book, and there was something tucked into its pages. The book was  _ The Two Towers,  _ by J.R.R. Tolkien. Dean could feel his chest protesting the treatment his heart was giving it.

“What do you mean, a mistake?” Dean said.

Cas shook his head.

“Cas… come on, I can't help if you don't tell me what's going on.”

“Why would you care?” Cas said bluntly, and Dean swallowed.

“Why would I be here if I didn't?” he countered, dry-mouthed, trying not to give everything away.

Cas met his eyes, then - and seemed to see something there, inside them, that he needed, because he sighed and unbent just a little.

“I was wrong,” he said blankly. “That’s all. I…” He tried for a smile, even a little laugh, but it came out sad and bitter. “I misheard you.”

“You misheard me?”

Cas dipped his head down. He still looked deadly pale, washed out - benumbed.

“When?” Dean pushed.

“The time…” Cas shook his head, swallowed, tried again. “Your first day. You were sitting with Charlie Bradbury and she turned to you and she said,  _ do you like Cas _ ? And you said…”

Dean was staring, his thoughts racing, trying to catch up. “I said - yeah, I like cats,” he finished. “But -”

“Cats,” Cas repeated. “ _ Cats.  _ I thought you said Cas, I thought - I thought you liked  _ me,  _ Dean, and when you asked me to hang out I thought it was a date, and all this time I’ve been thinking we’ve been  _ dating _ .” He said the word savagely. In full flow, now, Cas reached into his book and pulled out a small, unfurled red rose. He held it close, not offering it to Dean. 

“Cas…” said Dean, hushed.

“I thought - I thought we -” Cas said. “I brought… I was just..  wrong. All this time.” His hand fell to his side; he dropped the flower, and his head hung low. “I've been so stupid. And now I've told you, and ruined everything.”

Dean began to shake his head. It hurt him to see Cas like this, to watch him in such obvious pain - but growing inside him was a feeling of excitement, of wild and disbelieving excitement. Cas - all this time, Cas had thought they were  _ already  _ dating? And he'd been happy with it, he'd been going along with it? And here Dean had been, agonising over making the first move, over how to tell Cas he wanted their next hang-out to be a proper date?

“No,” Dean said.

Cas gave a dry little laugh. “No? No what?”

“No, no, no, no. Cas, you - you didn’t mishear -”

Cas’ head raised, ever so slightly. 

“Well - I mean, you did. But… it’s not what you think, Cas, I - I wasn’t talking about  _ cats  _ cats!” Dean dabbled his hands slightly in front of himself, vaguely impersonating a cat out of sheer need to make sure Cas understood what he was saying. “I was talking about cats, as in - I mean, because I like cats, I like Cas! I mean, you! And…” He swallowed. Cas was looking more confused than ever, and no happier; he wasn’t doing well enough.

He stepped forward, and took hold of Cas’ hand. It was warm in his own, but Cas didn’t hold back - he was passive in Dean’s keep.

“Dean…” he said, his eyes complicated and hurt. “I know what you’re trying to do, but it’s not fair, if you don’t feel…”

“But I do!” Dean blurted. 

Cas’ expression slipped from pained to soft with utter surprise in the space of moments - the fastest movement over his features that Dean had seen before.

“You… do?” Cas repeated, carefully, hands as still as if he were holding a loaded gun. “You do - what?”

“I do have feelings for you,” Dean said, his cheeks heating just from saying it aloud. “I do, OK? That time, you overheard me saying I like cats? God, I don’t know, maybe I even  _ did  _ accidentally say Cas, not cats! Because it was you I was thinking about when I said that, ‘cause you see, cats… liking cats… it’s about liking - it’s about not being straight.”

Cas blinked, looking as though he were still trying to understand.

“Cas,” Dean said, “I’m really,  _ really  _ not straight for you.”

He let out a breath. He’d  _ said  _ it. Said it all, and now here he was again - right where he should be. Standing beside Cas, feeling raw and honest and hopeful and terrified.

Cas didn’t seem to be able to summon words. Dean waited, his breath held.

Slowly, carefully, Cas’ fingers curled around Dean’s. Dean looked down at them - their pressed palms. They held hands, and Dean’s heart was a mountain to climb and a chasm to fall through all at once; it was hope, and it was knowing.

“Ever since I first…” Dean tried, and then the words got stuck in his throat, and he stopped. “Cas, I…”

With care - with determination, and bright eyes, and colour in his cheeks, Cas turned his body and lifted up his free hand and cupped Dean’s cheek. He met Dean’s eyes.

They smiled at each other.

“I like you, Dean,” Cas said - and Dean remembered the note in his locker, remembered the hope that he’d felt that it could have come from Cas, remembered berating himself for even wishing. He laughed, and ducked his head - pressing more firmly into Cas’ palm.

“I like you too,” he said, to the floor - where he spotted the rose, the red rose that had fallen from Cas’ hand. In a swift movement, he reached down and picked it up.

“Can I give this to you?” he said, holding it between two fingers, his other hand still intertwined with Cas’.

Cas frowned.

“It’s  _ mine  _ to give to  _ you. _ ”

“Well, you dropped it, so...” Dean said, grinning, moving closer. Cas’ nearness was dizzying, exhilarating. “It’s mine now.”

Cas curled the hand that wasn’t wrapped into Dean’s into a fist, which he lightly pressed to Dean’s chest. “It’s yours,” he said, “because I’m giving it to you.”

Dean huffed. His heart was thudding so hard that he was sure Cas had to be able to hear it - hear the drumbeat of his happiness.

“Aren’t you going to say something cool and suave to accompany it?” he said, teasing, tilting his chin up a little. His gaze kept flicking down to Cas’ lips and back up to his eyes, unable to settle.

“I don’t know how to do cool and suave,” said Cas, almost whispering it, like a secret. “You know I’m not good with words.”

“OK,” Dean acknowledged at a murmur - sharing the feeling of secrecy in the empty, silent room. “Me either, I guess. Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking?” 

Cas blinked.

Dean was so near, now, that he could see every stroke of blue in those lightning eyes.

“I’m thinking,” Cas said, “that I wish you would kiss me.”

Dean felt a thrill from his head to his toes; he pressed nearer, and Cas’ body held its ground - enjoyed the firmness of the touch between them. 

“Was that…?”

“That was good,” Dean said.

He rested his forehead against Cas’, and for a moment, they only watched each other - shared a space, a breath.

“God,” Dean said. “I like you so much.”

Cas smiled, and closed his eyes - a slow blink, this time of happiness.

“What?” asked Dean, unable to help smiling back.

“This is the beginning of the middle,” Cas said simply - and kissed him.


End file.
